


home

by cafe_au_late



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst, F/F, Major character death - Freeform, big sad, hurt and like some comfort?, someone dies here you have been warned thank you, still sad comfort though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-08
Updated: 2020-08-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:01:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25774828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cafe_au_late/pseuds/cafe_au_late
Summary: War is no place for a home.But Dorothea finds it.And loses it shortly thereafter.(And finally returns home.)
Relationships: Dorothea Arnault/Petra Macneary
Comments: 16
Kudos: 27





	home

"Linhardt! I am having need of Linhardt! Healers? Anyone?" Petra pants with exertion. The weight in her arms feels leaden, dragging her down with every step. Her grip slips, slick with the red of blood, _Dorothea’s blood._

Everything had been fine one minute and had gone to pieces the next minute. Petra slides off her pegasus and starts running. The buildings are too crowded and there's too much rubble for her pegasus to continue to fly safely. 

Dorothea’s whimper of pain draws Petra’s attention back to her, the songstress lies limply in Petra’s arms. Her breathing is shallow, strained with effort. Her eyes are still bright, alert even though Petra can see how much pain Dorothea is in right now. Blood pours from the wounds in her torso, spilling over Petra’s form as Petra hurries through the broken and war-torn streets, desperately searching for help.

All around them, the battle rages. They all know that taking Fhirdiad would not be easy but they never expected the city to be set aflame. It’s a struggle, getting civilians out of the city while fending off the Archbishop’s forces. 

Petra presses on grimly, backtracking through the streets that she has come through already, trying to find the platoon of healers that she knew had to be around here somewhere.

Dorothea had to survive this. 

She had to. 

“Petra,” Dorothea’s voice is a ragged whisper, but to hear her name coming from her lips is sweeter than any sound Petra has ever heard. “Petra it’ll be okay.”

“Please, my heart, you are needing to conserve your strength.” Petra tells her, quickening her steps down the street.

There’s a flash of dark green in the center of a small square. 

_Linhardt._

“Linhardt!” Petra yells, her voice hoarse from yelling already but she continues anyway. She doesn’t need her voice, she needs Dorothea. She needs Dorothea living, breathing, singing, dancing. She needs Dorothea like she needs air.

Linhardt looks up, surprised. His expression flits quickly between surprise, horror, and grim determination. He’s set up a small makeshift triage center in the square, a few other healers with Adrestrian insignia help him, tending to the steady stream of wounded soldiers and civilians alike.

Petra knows that he too is worried. The battle isn’t going the way that they all have thought it would go. Caspar is further within the city, his prowess needed more on the frontlines and getting the civilians to safety. But there’s little that they can do when there are more lives than their own at stake.

Linhardt helps her ease Dorothea onto the ground and he immediately begins pouring faith magic into her. Petra watches, her fear and anxiety mounting. Dorothea had to be okay, she had to be okay. Her wounds close and the bleeding stops, Linhardt sits back heavily onto his hands as Petra closes the small distance between her and Dorothea. She needs to feel Dorothea in her arms, she needs to feel her chest expand against her ribcage, she needs to feel the steady thrum of Dorothea’s pulse against her skin. 

Dorothea is alive, alive, alive.

Dorothea whispers gently, the sounds soothing over all of Petra’s anxiety. She can’t make out what Dorothea says exactly but that’s alright, all that matters is that Dorothea is alive.

An explosion rocks the city, sending bits of debris flying as the buildings around them rattle. The giant form of the Immaculate One rises above all the buildings. 

Petra stands, her entire body mourns the loss of Dorothea against her but she knows what she has to do. Dorothea grabs onto Petra’s hand, trying futilely to pull herself to her feet after Petra.

“Dorothea, my heart, you are needing to rest.” Petra holds Dorothea’s hand in hers, squeezing it reassuringly.

In the distance, Petra can see the Immaculate One, far above the rising smoke and flames, swat a wyvern out of the air like it’s a pesky fruit fly, both beast and rider go plummeting out of sight. They would find their bodies crumpled at the base of the castle after the battle, tossed aside like a rag doll.

Dorothea could see it too, the worry and fear in her eyes speaks volumes.

“I can go with you, just help me up.” Dorothea pleaded, her nails are digging into the back of Petra's hand, desperate. 

Petra shakes her head, "My heart, you need to rest. I will be coming back before you know it. After this war is finishing, we can go wherever you like." Petra turns Dorothea's hand over so that the palm faces up and places a gentle kiss in the center of it. Carefully, she folds Dorothea's fingers over the spot, preserving the kiss.

With a small smile, Petra waves and disappears down a side street, heading back for her pegasus.

So Dorothea waits. She waits, and waits, and waits, and waits.

Petra never comes back. 

  
  


_“My heart, what are you wanting to do after the war is over?” Petra asks Dorothea one night._

_It is late. The stars are numerous in the skies, the camp is quiet, save for their hushed conversation and the comforting crackle of the campfire. They sit together, sides pressed up against each other, trying desperately to get closer to each other even though there is no distance between them._

_Dorothea hums thoughtfully, thinking for a long moment. “I’d like to buy a little house. Nothing too big or extravagant, just a nice little place. Something cozy with a nice kitchen and a big garden. I’d like to find my home.”_

_“Your home?” Petra asks, confused._

_“I’ve never really had a home, not somewhere that I could call my own. I’ve lived on the streets for as long as I could remember. And then even when Manuela took me in at the opera house, that never felt like a home either, it was just a roof over my head you know?” Dorothea sighs wistfully. “I want a place to call home. And I want it to be ours.”_

_Petra smiles, “I am liking that very much. I am having some things to take care of in Brigid after the war ends. But after, I am wanting to find this home with you.” She plants a gentle kiss on Dorothea’s temple._

_“Who knows,” Dorothea teases, “maybe our home will be in Brigid.”_

_Petra laughs, delighted at the idea._

  
  


Dorothea finds her after the Immaculate One has fallen, covered in dirt and blood. Her broken pegasus is some distance away, on its side, unmoving. Petra is pinned underneath the side of a building that has collapsed, brought down by the Immaculate One's fury. 

She's barely breathing, and Dorothea screams for Linhardt even as she's kneeling at Petra's side trying to pour as much of her magic and faith and love into Petra's broken form as possible. 

Petra smiles up at Dorothea, and even with the trail of blood oozing from her lips, with the wounds and scrapes that now decorate her face rendering it impossible to see even the marking underneath her eye, Dorothea thinks Petra is beautiful. "It's okay." Petra coughs weakly. "Dorothea. M'heart" Her words slur together. She's too weak to properly enunciate anymore. 

"No no no no nonono. Don't speak. Please conserve your strength." Dorothea turns over her shoulder, "Linhardt!" She screams again. "Please! Anyone!" Tears stream down her face. 

"Dorothea, s‘okay. Pr’mise me—” Petra takes a deep breath, the air whistles noisily through her lips and chest. “Pr’mise me... that you’re going... t’build your small house.” Another ragged breath.

There isn’t enough magic left in her, Dorothea knows this but she keeps trying anyway, hoping that someone will show up soon. She draws on reserves that she didn’t know she had. Footsteps and voices sound from behind her but Dorothea can’t tear her eyes away from Petra even as the other Eagles show up. 

“Pr’mise me... that you’re… going t’find your home, m'heart.” The last words are barely a whisper, just air forcefully pushed past Petra’s lips with the last remainders of her strength.

Dorothea muffles a sob, “Petra, I have a home. You are my home.” 

Petra expels one last breath. Dorothea breathes out and holds her own breath, waiting for Petra to breathe in again. She waits, and waits, and waits, until her own lungs burn and she’s forced to inhale and she screams.

The air that leaves Petra’s lungs has left with her spirit. Petra looks to be at peace, smiling softly at Dorothea.

_“I had a home.”_

  
  


* * *

Dorothea spends the rest of her life wandering, never staying too long in one place. Edelgard begins the tiresome work of reforming Fodlan and while Dorothea gets offered a spot in Edelgard's new council, she opts to turn it down. Instead she follows her heart to travelling the world, helping those in need however she could. She travels alone, a small container strapped to her back, her only companion. 

People all across the land hear about the enigmatic songstress who wanders the lands helping those in need, always seemingly searching for something, someone. Many rumours circulate about her, her beauty and grace, her magical prowess, but she never settles down. 

In her last years, Dorothea finds herself in Brigid. The land has flourished with Edelgard's new policies. In all her years, Dorothea has never dared to venture into the island. It feels too close to home, too close to a home she only realizes that she has had in her memories. But now, it feels wrong to not see the birthplace, the once home of her home. 

Now, Dorothea sits under a palm tree, soft sand underneath her, the surf lapping gently against the shore. The sun casts glittering beams on the water. Its warmth is a balm to her weary soul and aching bones. The smell of the salt in the wind is refreshing, it almost feels like an old friend. Dorothea closes her eyes, feeling some small semblance of peace in this moment.

When she opens them again, she feels lighter. Petra stands before her, smiling brightly, in all her glory, exactly as Dorothea remembered her at her best. Somewhere behind Petra, her pegasus whinnies impatiently and spreads her majestic wings.

“Dorothea, my heart.” Petra says, offering Dorothea a hand.

Smiling, Dorothea takes it, letting Petra pull her up to her feet. The years fall away in that moment as Petra twirls Dorothea and draws her close into a warm kiss. The sun’s beams have nothing on the warmth that Petra gives.

Dorothea was home.

**Author's Note:**

> I got stuck in a weird writing funk and this was the only thing that wanted to be written so I wrote it in hopes of leaving the weird funk behind? 
> 
> Unfortunate, I know, but the brain does what the brain wants I guess. (Also I'm sorry to all the nerds in the Fodlan Olympics server who have been seeing me drop lil crumbs of this all day. This did not go the way some of you though lmao). 
> 
> This was also loosely inspired by Shepard x Tail's ending in Mass Effect 3. Just, ugh right in the feels every time.
> 
> Kudos and comments are much appreciated. Thank you so much for reading this sad lil bit.
> 
> Stay safe!! <3


End file.
